


whatever befall

by revolutionarygold



Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Genre: 17th century english female poets, Girl Friendship, God kind of, Hymns, christianity and folklore, fun with pronouns, its complicated, taken and recovery, two parts of a whole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionarygold/pseuds/revolutionarygold
Summary: They have been Inseparable since they were children. And then she was Taken.





	whatever befall

When they arrive, it's arm-in-arm. They are the same height, the same size. They are the same color, have the same glasses perched on their noses.

She is dark-haired. She is golden haired. She is green eyed. She is blue eyed. She is slow to speak, careful in her words and her promises. She is quick to speak, spinning webs of myth, story, lies, and facts all together.

They aren't always arm-in-arm, hand-in-hand, but they are always together.

They are called Inseparable, The Set, They Who Remain. They do not have individual names; when you ask for one, you ask for the other.

This protects them, for a while.

She has iron in her ears and salt in her pockets. She has iron sewn into the left shoulder of her jean jacket and trinkets in her purse. When they make bargains, she uses her careful words to slow down unwise negotiations. She is a fast-talker: assertive enough to keep their power, charming enough to remain in Their graces, well-spoken enough to be inoffensive. Their first three semesters pass without much note.

And then, two weeks after the new year, she is Taken.

She had spent too much time in the Library, had fallen asleep on her book, pen still in her right hand, had woken up with a complete knowledge of the political machine in America's gilded age and a deep sense of dread that something is Wrong.

She hurries back to their dorm - consecrated with crosses and salt, sage and Holy Books - and when she opens the door to broken salt lines and her copy of the Complete Works of William Shakespeare open to Macbeth, she feels that she ought to have known better.

She sits outside, salt in her pockets, trinkets in her bag, iron on her left shoulder and in her ears. She sits in the commons by the Fountain That Sometimes Exists for three day, reading.

The book was left behind on the third dawn. It fell to the ground, the freshwater spray warping the paperback’s pages and binding until the only line from Early English Female Poets that remains is “they have but pieces of the earth / I've all the world in thee.”

* * *

When she opens her eyes, she sees bioluminescence and trees that look like the Never Ending Forest but different, more alive, more sinister.

The silence is oppressive. Every word she says here has to be something she is willing to part with. Or - a flash of inspiration - something that can't be taken. Genuinely held belief is the only thing of value in the forest, the only thing that can't be touched.

She starts to sing the hymns of her parents and her grandparents.

(Not the one she was Named for. She's desperate, not dumb.)

The forest doesn't change, but she starts to walk.

_Be thou my vision, o King of my Heart-_

The Fae cannot touch this. They will be angry because of this. The price will be steeper. But she will find her faster.

She sees the mushroom ring when _heart of my own heart, whatever befall_ falls from her mouth.

She is there, laying on the forest floor, a peaceful look on her face. She stirs slightly at the words but does not open her eyes.

She takes a step forward and a bug-eyed member of the Gentry appears.

Negotiations start. It is physical, at times, because both tempers run high. The iron is torn from her shoulder. Her mouth bleeds at the corners for the stories she tells.

Her beloved friend is restless now, and these negotiations cannot continue for much longer.

She offers her forfeit. It accepts. The exchange is made. She collects her other half and the moment her hands touch her arm, her green eyes snap open, clear as they've ever been.

They sing their way through the forest again.

It's been a week since she fell asleep in the library. Their RA is relieved when they come back in - her with a torn jean jacket that will be burned on the next new moon, her with eyes that are maybe a little brighter than they were.

They settle into their room. They re-establish the salt line. They put away the books. The golden-haired one sits at her desk to finish the essay that started this whole adventure.

When she picks up her pen, it is with her left hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm unsure of what the implications of giving away your handedness are, but it was an interesting concept to me. 
> 
> "They have but pieces of the Earth / I've all the world in thee" is from To My Excellent Lucasia, on our Friendship by Katherine Phillips. It's an excellent poem about girl friendships and YMMV lesbianism. 
> 
> The hymn is Be Thou My Vision.


End file.
